


Something Left Behind

by tpdlady306



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:24:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tpdlady306/pseuds/tpdlady306
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Five Armies, the Company believes Bilbo dead, but is he really? Or did he return to the Shire, leaving a small part of himself behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: After watching BOTFM armies and reading some Hobbit fanfiction, this story started to plague me and I just needed to try and put it down on paper and get it out of my head. This story will be AU, Thorin, Fili and Kili all survive the battle. There will be slash. Don’t like then don’t read.  
> Be advised…this is unbeta’d. All mistakes are mine.

“No.”  


“But Thorin,” Balin argued yet again.  


“No,” the dwarf answered. He did not want to have this discussion again.  


“We need to know for sure,” said Balin. “You need to know.”  


They were having this discussion, yet again, in the king’s office in the Royal Quarters. A small fire burned in the fireplace that dominated the far wall. A wood mantelpiece hung above the fireplace. The large piece was carved and inlaid with precious gems. On the wall above the mantel was a large blue tapestry with the Line of Durin’s coat of arms. A dark woven rug covered the stone floor in front of the fireplace. On another wall, double doors led out to a large balcony overlooking the valley below. One door was ajar allowing in fresh air and light. The king’s dark wood desk and chair dominated the room, though Thorin and his advisor sat in two high backed chairs place near the fire, a table between them.

Grief and untold anguish filled his blue eyes, as he looked up and met his old friend’s gaze, and whispered, “I know.” With a shuddering breath the king finally looked away, stood up and limped, heavily favoring his right leg, to the open balcony doors overlooking a garden. The view caused another spike of pain to sear through his heart. His One would have loved the view.  


They stood tensely quiet for a few minutes before Balin finally spoke. “We never found a body…”  


“Enough!” Thorin boomed, as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He avoided meeting Balin’s knowing gaze by looking outside. These conversations always left him with a blinding headache. It was not that he wished his One dead but he had seen him fall in battle!  


Carefully watching his pained King, Balin was undeterred and continued, “We just wish to return to Bag End and see if he has returned.” When his king said nothing he added, “We have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”  


“Nothing to lose but time and effort,” the dark haired dwarf retorted. “I know he is not there.” Panting softly, he unconsciously wrapped his arm across one of the wound he received during the war, now being called the Battle of the Five Armies.  


“Tis ours to lose.”  


Thorin finally turned to look at his councilor. “No matter how much I wish it otherwise, no matter how much I beg Mahal to change it, the fact remains,” Thorin said, as he swayed slightly and with pain, both emotional and physical, etched his face. “He is gone and nothing will change that.”  


As he slowly turned to return to his chair near the fire, the king felt his legs give out from under him and he was suddenly pitched towards the floor.  


“Thorin!” Balin yelled, as he moved to grab the larger dwarf, wrapping his arms around him and supporting him. The injured dwarf cried out in pain and his face drained of all color, as he was slowly lowered to the rug covered floor.  


Hearing the commotion, the guards opened the heavy hall door and started in. “Your majesty?” they asked as they moved to assist.  


Quickly waving them off, Balin ordered, as he allowed his king to lean against him, “Get Healer Oín!”  


“I do not need a healer,” gasped the king, as the younger guard headed for the door.  


The guard stopped in the doorway and Balin commanded sternly, “Now!”  


Without further ado, he hurried away. Looking at the other guard, the older dwarf said, “I will help the king. Return to your post.”  


With a nod, the guard returned to his post, shutting the door behind him.  


“What’s wrong lad?”  


“Let it be,” Thorin answered, face covered in a light sheen of sweat.  


“But,” Balin started, as he pulled his hand away from his friend’s side. He was shocked to find his hand was damp. Glancing down, he saw it was covered in blood. “What?!” he was flabbergasted. “You’re bleeding!”  


“Leave it.”  


Ignoring the order, Balin pulled the king’s blue shirt open. The bandages underneath were blood soaked. “This still hasn’t healed?”  


“No,” Thorin confirmed.  


“It’s been months.”  


“Aye.”  


“Does Oín know?”  


“Yes.”  


“I’m sure he’s not pleased,” Balin said, as he visually surveyed the king for further injuries.The king’s right foot was yet healing, making it difficult to wear a heavy boot and instead it was braced and covered in bandages. Azog’s sword thrust through Thorin’s foot had broken bones, ripped muscles, and torn skin. Unsurprisingly this wound was slow to heal. Thick, dark linen leggings made it hard for Balin to judge the state of the damage to the king’s upper right leg.   


“To say the least,” Thorin agreed, as he used one hand to cover his stomach. Robes and dark shirt had hidden the now readily apparent unhealed injury.   


After giving the King as few moments to catch his breath, Balin said, “Come, let’s get you up off this floor.” As he adjusted his hold on his friend, the older dwarf felt a hard bulge just below his waistline.  


‘No!’ thought the councilor, as he drew in a sharp breath. “Milord??” he managed to ask.  


With a soft sigh, Throin answered, “Aye, my friend it’s as you expect.”  


Frowning, Balin closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. This should be a cause for happiness not despair. Finally he whispered, “I’m so sorry Thorin.”  


Shaking his head, the king ignored the apology and said, “Help me up.”  


Wrapping one of Thorin’s arms over his shoulder Balin reaffirmed his grip around the dark haired dwarf’s waist and asked, “Ready?”  


Nodding his assent, Thorin struggled to stand, as Balin lifted him, together they got him up off the floor and into his waiting chair. By the time he leaned back in the padded high back chair, the injured dwarf was worn out and sweat soaked.  


The grey haired advisor was shocked by how light the bigger dwarf actually was. It was common knowledge among the Company that Thorin was not doing well since the battle. Injury, guilt and grief were wearing the warrior down, particularly grief. He wasn’t eating well, wasn’t taking his medicine, wasn’t sleeping and now this. He was slowly disappearing before their eyes and if something wasn’t done, they would lose him too. Going to the Shire was a desperate gamble with little real hope of success. Still it was all they had.  


Pulling a chair around in front of Thorin's seat, Balin sat down next his friend and king, before asking, “Did he know?”  


With a small ironic snort and a shake of his head, Thorin answered, “No, I’m not even sure he knew it was possible.”  


“Most outsiders don’t,” agreed Balin, before admitting, “I’m just surprised.”  


“That I never told him?” questioned Thorin. “The chances seemed so remote and I never figured I’d be blessed…” he left the rest unsaid. Burying his face in his hands, he admitted, “By the time I realized myself, it was too late.” The strong dwarf’s voice broke as he continued, hands fisted in his hair, “He was dead, taking my chance of making things right with him.”  


“I am so sorry Thorin,” Balin consoled his friend, as he laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. After a few long moments he was continued, “I just meant I was surprised you allowed him such an intimate liberty.”  


“I could deny him nothing,” explained Thorin. “And honestly it was a relief to surrender control to someone else, even for a short time.”  


The older dwarf nodded his understanding. Their King had carried the weight of their people on his shoulders from a very tender age, always putting their wants and needs, before his own. He always had to be the strong leader, never allowing any to see a weakness. Allowing his One the chance to be the dominate partner and take charge, even for a short time, would be very intimate gesture. With his One, Thorin did need to always be the strong one; he finally had someone to share the weight of leadership.  


The revelation cemented Balin’s resolve that they needed to return the Shire and check if their burglar was not there and truly gone from them.  


Laying a gentle hand on the king’s shoulder, the older dwarf said, “Please Thorin, you’re slowly disappearing before our eyes. Your wounds have not healed, you’re exhausted all the time and slowly losing weight at a time that you should be gaining it.” Meeting Thorin’s blue eyes, he added, “I fear for you milord.”  


“There is no need to fear,” answered the king, though his reply lacked conviction.  


“You must hold tight lad,” urged Balin, “A small piece of him is still with you!”  


Leaning back in his chair, Thorin dragged his hands down his face. “I never thought this would happen to me Balin. I never looked for it.” Taking a deep breath he continued, 

“And now to do it alone...it’s almost…almost too much,” he finally admitted.  


“You are never alone lad,” the older dwarf assured the king, “the Company will always be there for you and your family.” Pressing the issue Balin continued, “And we will go to the Shire.”  


When Thorin looked ready to argue yet again, Balin added, “At worst, we can notify his kin and close his estate for you.” This time the old councilor refused to take no for an answer. They had nothing to lose. Their king was slowly fading and they would surely lose him if their burglar was gone from this world. As he watched his friend lay a gentle hand on the slight bulge at his waist, Balin was sure the only thing holding Thorin here was the babe inside him. Once the child was born, the king would quickly join his One on the other side. Their only hope was somehow the hobbit made it back to the Shire after the battle.  


Nodding his acquiescence, Thorin asked, “When will you leave?”  


Surprised, Balin stuttered, “I had not planned……”  


“I only trust you with this my friend.”  


Sighing, the older dwarf quietly agreed, “I will leave in the morn.”  


“Take someone with you,” Thorin. At that same moment the door opened and Oín stomped in.  


“What’ve ya done to yourself this time laddie,” the elderly dwarf grumped, as he walked over to his king.  


“His wound bleeds,” Balin informed the healer, as he stood and readied to leave. He would not share his king’s other secret with the aging dwarf, that was his story to share or not. Readying to leave Thorin in the clutches of their healer he assured the king, “I will take someone.”  


“Someone we trust,” the younger dwarf ordered as his healer carefully moved his shirt and growled at the bloodied bandages.  


“Thorin you must take care of this wound if tis to heal,” grumbled Oín as he readied his healing supplies.  


With a soft sigh Thorin answered, “I have…”  


“Do not play me for a fool dwarfling!” ordered Oín, as he sternly glared at his king. The healer, who had been Thor’s personal physician, was one of the few dwarves that could get away with calling their king such. “I can tell when a wound has not been cared for!”  


The king knew when to say nothing and just leaned back in his chair, allowing the healer to vent his frustration while he did his job.  


“I will take my leave,” Balin said with a bow and small smile at the interaction between healer and patient. He softly added to Oín, “We meet in an hour, my chambers.”  


The old healer waved him off with a grunt and Balin turned and walked out the door, shutting it behind him. Dwalin was leaning against the far wall, waiting for him.  


The larger dwarf pushed himself away from the wall and joined his brother to stride down the hall shoulder to shoulder. “Did he agree?”  


“Aye,” said Balin, “Finally.”  


As they walked towards the councilor’s office, Dwalin asked, “Who will ya send?”  


“He sends me.”  


“What?” a surprised Dwalin questions.  


As they step into Balin’s office, as he answers, “He says he only trusts me with this task.”  


“I guess that makes sense,” Dwalin nodded.  


“Gather the Company, we will meet here in a bell,” the grey haired dwarf told his brothers, as he sorted through papers.  


Without saying a word the Captain of the Guard, turned and walked out the door, while the councilor continued to clear his desk. He had much do before leaving in the morn.  


O~O~O  


The Company debated well into the night, trying to decide who would travel with Balin to the Shire. Most now had responsibilities to the retaken Kingdom that would be difficult to leave behind. Dwalin could not go, as the Company would trust no others with their King’s safety. Oín needed to be in the Mountain to care for Thorin. Fili was needed to take on the burden of ruling as Thorin’s health continued to deteriorate. Bofur and Bifur worked to re-open their mines. The sooner they were open, the sooner the crafters had metal to work with. Bombur was head of the kitchens and fed those in the mountain but more importantly he cooked for the king. Anything they could get him to eat that this point was a help. Nori was the King’s spy and his hands were full keeping them informed of the goings-on in the restored kingdom. Dori was the mountain’s guild master. He was attempting to reestablish the guilds and forge new trade with the world. Ori was head scribe and would take on some of Balin’s duties after he left for the trip. That left the younger prince, Kili. He had yet to take on new duties.  


Kili’s was grievously wounded in the Battle. When he was first found, the healers just shook their heads; they patched him up but were convinced he’d not live out the night. The young dwarf surprised them all. Not only did he survive that first night, he defied all the odds and lived! His healing was long and painful but he made a full recovery, eventually. He was recently given a glowing bill of health from Oín and formally released from the healer’s clutches.  


So it was that Balin and Kili were saddling to ponies the next morning in the courtyard, readying to leave on their journey.  


“Ready lad?” Balin asked.  


“Aye,” Kili answered, “It will be nice to be out in the sunshine again.” Turning to glare at Oín, “And away from the grasp of evil healers!”  


“Save me from the antics of healing princes,” Oín retaliated, as he handed a satchel of healing herbs and bandages to Balin. “Just in case.”  


“Take care of our King and watch his closely,” Balin said to the healer. “He hides his hurts.”

“Aye,” agreed Oín, “and not well. He fades before our eyes," as he glared at his king's back. 

Nodding his head in agreement, the councilor added the satchel to his packs, as the old healer stomped away.   


After exchanging goodbyes and a fierce hug with his nephew, Thorin, leaning on a cane, approached Balin just as he prepared to climb up on his pony.  


“A moment,” Thorin asked.  


“Be safe brother,” Fili said, as he stepped away from the young dwarf’s pony. “Return home.”  


“I will,” Kili reassured his older sibling. Leaning down so only his Fili could hear him, he added, “Take care of Uncle, I fear for him.”  


They clasp forearms and Fili growled his assurance. “We will.”  


“I’ll meet you at the gates,” Kili told Balin, wanting to give the two some privacy. He cantered the pony away before the older dwarf could reply.  


“My King,” the older dwarf prompted.  


“If he is there….” Thorin started but was unable to finish. He refused to let himself hope….too much.  


“We will bring him home to Erebor,” said Balin, “if he is there.”  


“Do not make him,” the King said, “If he is angry or wishes not to see me…do not make him.”  


“And the rest?” Balin asked, dropping his eyes to Thorin’s waistline, “May we share the rest?”  


“Aye,” the King answered tiredly. “You may tell him.”  


Mounting his pony Balin said, “If it is possible we will bring him back lad.”  


Limping away from the dwarf’s pony, Thorin said, “Be safe,” he said. With a small grin he added, “And do not strangle my young nephew before you reach the Shire.”  


“I can make no guarantees,” Balin quipped as he turned the pony and rode away.  


“May Mahal’s blessings go with you,” whispered Thorin. “And all my hopes….”

A/N: So yes, this will be slash and mpreg. After reading so many stories where Bilbo left pregnant, I had to try the opposite. Bilbo is gone but Thorin is left with a surprise. This is obviously AU. I will try and keep everyone as close to character as possible but I may slip occasionally. I’m currently writing my own original work, so I have no idea how fast updates. I just wanted to post it and see if there was any interest….


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter just seemed to keep growing and growing. I almost decided to make it two chapters but decided I liked it just the way it is! I hope you enjoy it! Review please!!!
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters belong to JRR Tolkien and I make nothing for my efforts.

Balin and Kili travelled across Middle Earth, from Erebor to Hobbiton in the Shire making very good time. It is funny how fast one can travel when they stick to the main trails and byways and had no need to hide their trail. They stayed in inns, bartered for food and equipment in towns and villages, and were only forced to camp on rare occasions or when they decided it would be easier. 

There seemed to be a lull in orc and goblin activities, their numbers having dwindled after the Battle at the Lonely Mountain. Only on two occasions did the dwarfs have confrontations with the nasty monsters. Even Mirkwood passed without incident, as King Thranduil deigned to have an elvish guard for them through the wood. This time, with no wizard escort, they managed to avoid a trip into Rivendell. All in all it was a rather enjoyable trip.

“Why must we stay here?” Kili asked, as they sat in the Green Dragon common room and awaited their dinner. The young dwarf took a sip of ale from his pint.

“Tis late lad. We will walk up to Bilbo’s tomorrow.”

The pair had arrived in Hobbiton a short time before, though it was dark, the sun having set an hour before. Balin decided they would stay the night at the inn and head out to Bilbo’s smial in the morn. They were given two comfortable rooms upstairs, the beds a little small for the dwarves but not uncomfortably so. After stowing their gear, they met back in the common room, taking a table in a corner near a large fireplace, which allowed them to see the whole room. They watched as hobbits wandered in after a long day in the fields. The arriving inhabitants shouted happy greetings to each other, traded gossip and ordered ale to slack their thirst. 

The younger dwarf was having none of it. “It was later the last time Fili and I arrived.”

“Aye,” agreed with Balin, before sipping his beer. “And looked how that turned out.” 

“It turned out well enough,” the young dwarf argued. 

“He fainted,” Balin retorted, “And did not agree to join us until the last moment.”

Giving his comrade an exasperated looked, Kili said, “That was Bofur’s fault and you know it!” 

The hat bedecked dwarf had told Bilbo “he’ll melt the flesh off your bones in a blink of an eye,” and to think of Smaug as a “furnace with wings!” He ended his description with, “flash of light, searing pain and then poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash!” That was more than enough to cause the kindly and sheltered hobbit to faint.

“Aye,” the councilor conceded, “But it still could have gone better.”

There was nothing the younger dwarf could say to that because it could have gone better. They had invaded their host’s home, later finding out he had not known they were coming, ate his food, tossed his dishes around, after he asked them to stop, and caused him to faint. They had not put their best foot forward, and it was a truly miracle Master Baggins had later agreed to travel with them.

“I just want to see him again Balin!”

“And if he is not there?”

“He is there.” 

“Kili,” Balin started just as a dark haired hobbit lass returned with their plates of food. He waited for her to put the dishes down in front of them. “Thank you lassie.” 

“Most welcome,” she replied. As she turned to head to another table she added, “Need anything else just give a shout for Poppy and I’ll hurry back.” 

Balin didn’t miss the look of interest the young hobbit cast at Kili as she walked away. Fortunately, the young dwarf was so intent on their discussion he missed it. “Tis more than possible he’s not,” the councilor said, “And we must be prepared for it.” Pulling a hunk of meat off the bone, he continued, “I will not knock, unannounced, on a hobbit door this late again.” He popped the juicy chunk in his mouth and started to chew.

“He’s here,” Kili argued, as he stabbed a piece of meat on his plate. “He has to be.”

With a sigh, Balin asked, “And if he’s not?”

Meeting the older dwarf’s eyes, Kili gazed at him intently before saying, “He is Balin. He has to be.”

Balin put his fork down on the table and looked across the table at his young companion. “Though we have come all this way I won’t have you unprepared.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “It’s likely he never made it home, that he died that horrible day.”

“No.”

“Aye lad,” said Balin, “We may not like it but that is the ugly truth. Our dear hobbit could be forever gone from this world.”

Turning away, Kili gazed at the fire in the hearth, eyes swimming with tears. “If he’s gone, we will yet lose another.” After long moments of silence between the pair he added, “Uncle still holds to the hope that his One yet lives, if that is taken from him,” frowning as he shook his head sadly, “…we will lose him.”

“Aye,” the old dwarf agreed, though he knew there was more holding Thorin to Arda than Bilbo but it was not his secret to share with the young Durin. 

“The Line of Durin has lost enough,” Kili stated adamantly, “My family…” he stopped for a moment, before continuing, “My Uncle has lost enough…his home, our people, our family! Great Grandfather, Grandfather, my Father, Uncle Frenin…all gone!” he stopped again. 

“We have taken back Erebor.”

“We have,” agreed Kili, glaring at the older dwarf and looking uncannily like his Thorin. “But at what cost? Has Mahal not asked enough? To take Uncle’s One would be beyond cruel.”

Balin silently agreed. With a sigh he turned back his attention back to his food and started to eat before it grew cold. Taking that cue, Kili picked up his spoon, scooped up a mouthful of potatoes and began to eat, saying nothing more. 

Both watched as the small inn continued to fill with hobbits. Though most chose to ignore the pair of dwarves in the corner or possibly did not see them, they all seemed happy and energetic, laughing and crashing mugs together. A few even broke out in jigs, when a hobbit lad broke out a fiddle and started to play a lively tune. 

Leaning back in their chairs, Kili and Balin enjoyed the warmth and happiness in the room, while sipping their ale. They could not help but grin themselves at the antics of the younger hobbits, as a pair jumped on a table and started to sing at the top of their lungs. The fun was broken up when the grey haired matron of the inn came out and grabbed the lads by their pointed ears and pulled them off the table, to the laughter and jeers of the watching crowd.

“What have I told you about dancing on me tables?” she asked them as she pushed them into a pair of chairs at the table next to the dwarves.

“Not too,” they chorused, as they rubbed their offended appendages. 

“Then sit there and behave yourselves,” she chided them. 

“Yes ma’am,” the younger of the pair agreed, sheepishly.

Smiling, Balin could not help the small gaff of laughter at the youngsters’ antics. They reminded him so much of another pair of troublemakers, with their actions and hair color, one a deep brown and the other golden blonde curls. 

Starting at the sound the matron turned her attention to their table, “I hope they did not disturb you Master dwarf?”

“Nay! Not at all!” said Balin, as he glanced at his younger companion, who had just tipped back his mug. “They happily remind me of another pair of troublemakers I once knew.”

Sputtering on his ale, Kili tried to think of a retort. Failing he raised a mug to the pair, toasted them and took a gulp of ale. Putting the tankard on the table, he grinned wickedly at Balin, before turning to the mischief makers sitting next to him. “How bout I teach ya a dwarven drinking song?”

“Yes!” the young pair of hobbits quickly agreed. 

“Poppy!” Kili shouted, as he picked up his now empty mug. When she turned at the sound of her name, the dwarf waved the tankard, silently asking for another. She nodded and after taking another order, swiftly headed for the back of the inn. 

“Now lads,” said the young dwarf as he moved over to the hobbits table, “it goes like this.”

Shaking his head fondly, Balin said, “Kili.”

“Aye?” the prince replied, glancing over a shoulder at his companion.

“Nothing too racy,” Balin instructed.

“Aye,” Kili answered on a sigh, “taking away all the fun.” He grinned and turned back to his new conspirators in crime. 

Balin could not help but smile. It was good seeing the young prince smile again. Though they had retaken Erebor, the cost had been high and it had been to many long months of sadness for the young dwarf. Sorrow and hardship had dogged their heels since their stay in the Mirkwood dungeon and there had been little to laugh or joke about. Injury, madness, battle and death had surrounded the usually happy go lucky dwarf for much too long. Though critically injured, the pair of princes had escaped the Battle of the Five Armies alive. Later they were distraught to hear that their beloved Uncle was injured and expected to pass beyond Mahal’s Gates and join their ancestors in his Halls. Bilbo’s probable death was almost more than they could take. Even with the restoration of their home, there had been little to smile or laugh about in the last few months.

Kili and his co-conspirators sat at the table, their heads bent together, when Poppy returned with the dwarf’s ale and sat it on the table. As she started to walk away, he called out, “Thank you Poppy!”

The hobbit lass smiled as she walked away, a sway in her step, to help other customers.

Leaning back in his seat, Balin pulled out a pipe and packed it full of leaf. As he lite it, he heard laughter come from the young ones table and smiled. Sitting he soaked in the atmosphere of homely comfort and companionship of the inn and waited to hear the song Kili taught the hobbits. 

“Ready?” Kili asked the hobbit pair, a short time later.

“Yes,” answered the blonde hobbit as he jumped to his feet, pulling his dark haired friend to his feet. “Come on!”

They scampered to stand in front of the fire together. Again the blonde took the lead, clearing his throat to get everyone’s attention. After the noise died down they started to sing.

There’s an inn  
Inn, there’s an inn, a merry old inn  
Beneath an old grey hill.

At this point the hobbit pair starts to dance, clasping hands and swinging each other in circles. Balin laughed and clapped at the tune Kili taught them.

And there they brew a beer so brown  
That the man in the moon himself came down  
One night to drink his fill!

Joining in himself, Balin sang out the last verse, took a big swallow of his ale and toasted the young dwarf at the nearby table. 

Oh!  
The ostler has a tipsy cat  
That plays a five stringed fiddle;  
And up and down he saws his bow

Kili mimicked the movement of playing a fiddle as the hobbits sang loudly and danced about the room. The audience began to stomp their feet and clapping, keeping time to the music.

Now squeaking high;  
Now purring low.

The tune slowed as the young pair ducked low.

Now sawing in the middle.

They stood and the tune picked up yet again, as they continued their dance, swinging around Poppy, who managed not to drop her tray of mugs full of ale. She shook her head at the antics but laughed with the rest.

So the cat on the fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle  
A jig that will wake the dead:  
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune

The duet made their way back to stand in front of the large stone hearth as they finished the last few lines of the song. All the hobbits in the inn were laughing and still stomping along, the song seemingly a huge hit.

While the landlord shook the man in the moon  
It’s after three he said!

Finished, they bowed to all the cheers and shouts of approval from their audience. Shouts of “More!” could be heard from the hobbits.

“Master Kili!” the dark haired hobbit called out. “Come join us! Teach us some more of your marvelous songs!”

Smiling, the young dwarf tried to kindly decline, “Thank you but…” 

He never got the opportunity to finish as his blonde protégé ran back and grabbed the dwarf’s arm and started to pull him from the table. “Please! Join us Master Kili!”

Glancing at Balin, who gestured for him to join the hobbits with a grin and salute with his mug of ale, Kili finally gave in and allowed the young hobbit to pull him from his chair to stand in front of the fireplace. 

Cries of “teach us another!” and “Sing for us Master Dwarf!” were heard from the approving crowd.

“The next one starts like this,” said Kili, as he begun to teach his pupils the next tune.

Leaning back in his chair, Balin smoked his pipe, drank his ale and watched the young heir of Erebor smile, laugh and sing for the first time in a long time. It brought light and hope back into his heart. He dearly missed seeing Kili joyful.

0~0~0  
“Now Balin?” questioned the young dwarf prince, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Kili,” the older dwarf started.

“No, nothing else is possible,” said the prince, refusing to even consider another option. He was not having this discussion again. Somehow Bilbo was alive and well in the Shire. Somehow….

With a soft sigh, Balin agreed, “Aye, let’s go laddie,” as he stood from the table and headed for the door.

As he stepped out, Balin was stopped to take in the view. It was shaping up to be a beautiful day. The sun was shining in a crystal clear cobalt sky that seemed to come down and kiss the emerald hills on the horizon. The path seemed to wander into the distance, disappearing between two hobbit holes, one on each side of the road. Residents could be seen going about their business, pushing carts, tending children or leading animals. Some nodded “good day” to the pair in passing, though all looked at the pair of dwarves standing in front of the Green Dragon. Remembering Bilbo’s griping about his neighbors’ tendency to gossip, Balin knew they needed to head out soon or news or their arrival would reach Bilbo before they did. Mahal willing.

They left their ponies at the stable and started down the footpath, hoping to attract less attention, not that it seemed to be helping. Every home they passed, if the residents were outside, they stopped what they were doing to stare at the dwarves. Those that met the dwarves at the tavern the previous evening waved and called out greetings, while others just stopped and stared. After the third time it happened Balin could not help but wonder exactly what it was about. Though strangers were rare in the Shire he knew peddlers made their way to the lush green land on occasion, as he spied a farmer using a dwarven made plow to break up the earth for planting.

“Why are they staring?” Killi asked, voicing his own puzzlement.

“I have no idea,” Balin answered, as he met the gaze of hobbit lass heading the other direction. She quickly looked away and sped up her pace.

As they continued up the lane, Kili saw a dark curly haired hobbit lady, wearing a horrid hat and split pea colored dress, headed down directly towards them. From Bilbo’s descriptions of her during their journey, the young prince was sure this was the detested Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. What was she doing coming from the direction of their burglar’s home? When she approached them, she huffed in annoyance, turned her nose up into the air and muttered something about, “Dwarves!” and “Mad hobbits!” 

Unwilling to allow the comments go uncontested Kili stopped directly in her way. At first he said nothing looking at her from the top of her ugly orange hat down to the tips of her toes, just barely sticking out from under the fringe of her dress. “At least we do not insult strangers as they pass,” he commented, striking a blow to her hobbit vanity. After traveling with their burglar, all the Company was well aware of the pride all hobbits took in caring for guests.

The female pulled back from Kili, wrapping her arms around herself and gasped in disgust. “At least we do not accost innocent women in the roadway!” she sniffed. She moved to step around the young Durin and he did not stop her.

“If I had, you would know it,” Kili whispered as she passed. The horrid hobbit said nothing, but picked up her pace, practically running down the path.  
Moving up to join Kili, Balin heard him start, “Well, she’s a right…” 

“Kili lad!” the elder interrupted him, before he could finish the insult. 

“I wonder what she was doing at Bilbo’s home,” Kili wondered, as he looked up at the green door. It was now unmarked by the Dwarvish rune but he would know it anywhere.

“I don’t know,” Balin said, as he started up the path again, “but I’m sure we will soon find out.”

“Aye,” agreed Kili, as he followed older dwarf.

Soon they were standing at their destination and the little door seemed to loom over them. Taking a deep breath, Kili stared at the door and tried to control his rampaging breathing. Soon they would know the fate of their burglar. They would know whether he lived and somehow returned to the Shire or if he died that fateful day, taking with him, their hope. Kili did not relish the idea of returning with bad news. He was not sure his Uncle would survive if they did.   
‘No!’ Kili thought, ‘he’s alive! He has to be!’

“Ready lad,” Balin asked, preparing to knock.

A firm nod was Kili’s answer. With a steadying breath, the grey haired dwarf reached out and knocked on the green door. 

A moment later it opened and a hobbit lass stood in the door, a heavily pregnant hobbit lass. 

“I have had enough Lobelia!” she started yelling, before catching sight of the two dwarves in front of her. 

Both dwarves stood stunned in the doorway. The hobbit before them was beautiful. She had chocolate brown curls, pulled back and secured in a low pony tail at the back of her head. She had aqua blue eyes, a pert nose, luscious lips, a full bosom and if he were not expecting she would have gorgeous curves and hips. She wore a blue dress, dotted with small white flowers. The dress complimented the blue in her eyes. All in all, she was striking but the only thing the dwarves noticed was a pregnant female standing in their hobbits door. Pregnant?!?!?! 

Kili felt heart plummet into his stomach. No, no, no! It was not supposed to happen this way! Now he realized that there was something worse than telling this Uncle that Bilbo was dead. It would be far harder to return to Erebor and tell his Uncle that his One had found another and moved on. It made the young dwarf just sick thinking about it.

“Master dwarves?” the female questioned.

Clearing his throat, “Oh, ummm…Pardon me,” Balin finally managed, bowing slightly at the waist. “Is Master Baggins home?”

“I am Ms. Baggins, can I help?”

Kili’s head started spinning and he heard a buzzing sound start. This could not be happening.

“Who is at the door?” they heard an all too familiar voice from somewhere inside. 

‘NO, NO, NO!’ Kili thought, tears starting to form in his eyes. ‘Please Mahal, no!’

Finally the owner of the voice limped into view, leaning on a cane. It was their burglar, their hobbit alive and well and living in Bag End. Standing beside the female, he laid a gentle hand on the female’s shoulder, without looking up at their guests, asked, “Who’s here?”

“They have not given me their names yet,” she explained, “Master dwarves?”

Bilbo looked up sharply at the word dwarves and his eyes filled with tears. He could not believe who was standing in his door. It was impossible. He had to be seeing things. “Sweet Yavanna,” he whispered reverently, “Kili?”

Struggling for breath, Kili looked at the pair in the door. Bilbo had moved on. He had returned to the Shire, found himself a beautiful lass, settled down and was expecting a hobbitling. Did he feel nothing for Uncle? Feelings of betrayal on Thorin’s behalf nearly overwhelmed the young dwarf and he shook with indignation. 

“Kili,” Bilbo said softly again, this time reaching out for the young dwarf.

“No, it was not supposed to be this way,” tears filled Kili’s eyes and slid down his cheeks. No longer able take the sight of their burglar and his pregnant lass, the dwarf instead, turned and ran down the hill.

“Kili!” Bilbo shouted and moved to follow.

“Let him go lad,” Balin said. 

For the first time, Bilbo noticed the second dwarf on his doorstep. “Balin!” he said, as he moved to pull the elderly dwarf into a big hug. After a moment the hobbit pulled back and asked, “What is going on?”

“I have no idea,” Balin replied, as he looked at the pregnant hobbit. “Maybe we should sit down and you can explain it to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The song Kili taught the pair of young hobbits in the Green Dragon was Bofur’s Song from the extended edition of the first Hobbit movie. Bofur sang it in Rivendell.


End file.
